"Alana!"

I snap awake with a gasp. I'm back in the Uber headed toward the church, with Nessa in the seat beside me. I sag back into my seat. I shouldn't have expected anything different. Nessa and Connor are like the universal constant.

"Is this what I have to look forward to?" Nessa sighs.

"Forward to?" I repeat, frowning. I reach up to swipe a wayward strand of hair out of my face, and my own hand freezes in midair as I catch sight of it.

There are rings. On the ring finger. I flip my hand palm-down, examining it as my heart accelerates into a gallop.

Why does that look like an engagement ring? And why does the plain silver band beside it look suspiciously like the ones Nessa and Connor will trade in a few hours?

My eyes dart around the suddenly cramped car, searching for an escape.

I never signed up for this.

I cut a glance across the car, hoping for a foolish second that maybe this isn't her wedding, it's just a moment in our lives, and maybe she has a ring to match mine.

But her engagement ring looks just like it always has.

I sit very still as the car pulls into the church parking lot. I can't exactly ask who I'm married to. I don't think I could blame that on post-slumber brain fuzz. But the last time I accidentally changed the past and took that Star Trek course at the university, I remembered the altered events, so I close my eyes and try to think about nothing.

Perhaps it's my panic at being hitched, but all I can remember is the party and the morning after and this cyclical chain of events that just. Won't. Stop.

The car stops, and we get out. "You want me to check inside?" I offer.

She nods. "Please."

As I climb the stairs, the heaviness of my own limbs surprises me. I blink, trying to clear my scratchy eyelids, but it just makes my eyes water. I open the door and peer inside, wondering why I just want to lay down on the floor and take a nap. It doesn't even look comfortable.

It does look empty, though, so I motion Nessa inside.

"Where's Cam?" I ask. "Shouldn't he be laying out programs or something?"

"I'm sure he'll show up soon. You said he ran home to grab Corey and the diaper bag, right?"

Wait, Cam has a kid? I chuckle at the image. I can't imagine him settling down.

"You should really stop calling that thing a diaper bag," Nessa is saying, her voice muffled from our dressing room. "He's four years old."

I trudge into the room, my brain slogging at half pace. Why does it feel like I haven't slept since that awful party five years ago?

I shrug it off and start laying things out for Nessa—dress, shoes, veil—and pull out my own dress.

A knock at the door interrupts us, and I crack it open cautiously in case it's Connor. Because I'm done being the worst friend ever. I'll get Nessa through this day and make it perfect for her, because my conscience is shot from ruining it.

And the cycle will repeat. It's like a carnival game. Sorry, you lose. Try again next time.

I peer through the crack in the door and then open it wider. It's Cam, and he shoves a red-and-white striped bag into my hands. He looks just as tired as I feel.

"Um," I grunt, trying and failing to hold the bag up; it hits the ground with a thump. "Why are you giving this to me?"

He laughs. "Because you're the one who knows what to do with the stuff inside."

"Hey—I am not babysitting your kid!" I protest as he backs away.

"Very funny," he says rolling his eyes. "Me and Corey are going to start setting up, okay? Love you."

Before I can react, before I can duck my sloth of a body out of the way, he kisses me. On the lips.

"And for the love of god, stop calling that thing a diaper bag," he requests. "He's four."

I'm frozen as the door clicks shut. "What the hell just happened?" I murmur as I swing back around to face Nessa. My hands fly to my hair, pulling at it as my voice drops to a whisper, barely a breath. "What have I done?"

"Lana, are you okay?" Nessa asks, rushing to my side. "You look really pale."

"I think I need to sit down," I manage, before doing just that on the floor right in front of the door.

"Okay." She tries to lift the bag out of the way, but it immediately falls to the floor again. "Wow. That's heavy, huh? What's wrong?"

My breaths are shaky as she drops to the floor beside me. I just want her to pull me close like she did in freshman year and tell me I'm hallucinating, that some senior frat boy gave me something and everything will be back to normal in the morning.

But I know she won't. Because I remember now. Cam's kiss zapped it all back into me like a cattle prod. I remember having Corey. I remember struggling to finish school swollen and tired and run-down. I remember giving up. I remember an April full of panic when I saw those two little red lines, standing next to each other like innocent soldiers.

He's four years old.

I squeeze my eyes shut as it all comes flooding back. The third round of drinks that Amy poured us. The fourth, the fifth. How this time around, I'd doomed us both because we were both too far gone for safety and consequences. Because Corey is a Mariani, but he's not Cam's.

Connor's face when I pulled him aside and told him. Cam's sacrifice—throwing his own life away so his brother could be with someone he loved. And I'd gone along with it, playing empty house here with someone I feel nothing for because my son looks too much like a Mariani to spin it any other way.

And I remember how we never told Nessa.

"I don't want kids," is all I can whisper, because anything more than that would be selfish. "I don't want to be here—I never wanted to be here. To stay here. I don't—me and Cam, we're not—"

I don't realize I'm crying until I taste salt. Ugly gulps squelch their way from my mouth, making the room spin.

"Are you two okay?" Nessa asks cautiously, taking my hand.

I just sob harder. What can I even say to that? Her truth is an illusion.

Another knock sounds above us, making me choke on my own gasp. "Is everything okay in there?" Connor's voice wafts through the door.

"Everything's fine," Nessa calls back.

"Are you sure?"

I can hear him starting to panic, and the only thing keeping him from barging in is tradition.

"Yes." Nessa wipes a few tears from my cheeks, leaving them tingling with the ghost of her touch. "Can you get Cam, please?"

A moment later, the door eases open, bumping up against my back. "Hey," Cam says, kneeling down beside us now too. "What's wrong?"

"I can't do this," I whisper. "I can't do this, it's not fair—"

"Okay." He hauls me to my feet, but my trembling legs are useless and he has to hold me up. "Come on."

I vaguely recognize the blurry outline of the red carpet as we enter the chapel. Cam helps me sit on a pew, but its cold impersonality offers little comfort.

"I'm sorry," I babble to him. "I'm so sorry."

"Just take deep breaths, okay?" he says, as if he's coaching me through giving birth. "We knew this wasn't going to be easy, but we'll get through it."

I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. Up near the altar, Corey is swinging from Connor's thumbs like he's a set of monkey bars. I watch them for a moment, lost in the laser-trap of lies that I've set for all of us.

Connor catches sight of us and sets his son down, pushing him toward one of his grandparents. I clench my jaw, my nostrils flaring against the traitorous uprising in my throat as he approaches.

"What's going on?" he murmurs, eyes darting from Cam to me and back again.

Cam shakes his head.

"Give us a minute?" Connor requests.

No. Stay here. I don't want to be alone with Connor right now. Or ever again. It never ends well.

But Cam's footsteps recede across the wooden floor, and suddenly two hands circle my arms painfully, just like they did the first time around—the first time I tried to tell Nessa I loved her.

"Pull it together," Connor hisses. "This is supposed to be the best day of Nessa's life, and we're going to make sure it lives up to that expectation, right?"

"How can you keep lying to her?" I ask. "I can't, Connor. You love her, don't you? How can you do that to someone you love?"

He sighs, and I peek up at him. His eyes seem to have sunk further into his skull during our conversation, and I realize that he looks just like me and Cam: Tired.

"I love her," he finally says. "I can't tell her because I love her."

I understand exactly what he means. And maybe it's the reason I can't tell her the truth, either—not this truth, the other truth. It's not fair to dump that on her after so long, when she's so happy.

But I've been lying to her, too. For six years. But what's the point of telling her I love her when she's obviously in love with Connor? It would only make her pity me, or cause her guilt, and I can't stand either one. Better to keep it to myself. But keeping an entire child secret?

Well, half a child. The father's half.

I shake my head. "I can't do it."

Connor's hands tighten around my arms. "Alana, you can't tell her!"

I just gaze at him. Before all this, I would have judged him. Told him that he wasn't good enough for Nessa. Hell, I would've told him all that even if he wasn't a liar. I've wanted to for years. He's not good enough for her. No one is.

But if someone less than perfect for her was going to end up with her, it should have been me.

The old me thought that. The new me still wants it. I'm still selfish, but at least now I realize it.

"No," I agree. Even in a transient reality, even when I know I'll wake up tomorrow back in 2013, I can't hurt her again. Not after everything I've done. "But I can't do this."

I stand up, shaking him off me, and bite my lip. "Please tell her I'm sorry, but I'm not feeling well."

"Lana—"

I ignore his protest. And I ignore the temptation to knock on the dressing room door as I drag my heavy feet past.

* * *

Thank you thank you to everyone who's come this far! :)